by Carol Devine
"Try to relax, darlin', and let me take a look."
As the latest contraction eased, her knees did, too. He was able to check how dilated she was. "What do you think?" she gasped.
"We better call the doctor. Right now," he said.
* * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, Mariah had lost all sense of modesty in her quest to keep from bearing down. The doctor was on Mariah's speakerphone and the 911 operator on Shane's phone was informing them the ambulance should be there any minute.
"This can't be happening," Mariah cried. "Owww!"
Using the raised console between the two front seats as a back brace, she faced Shane, gripping his shoulders as they counted down to the end of the contraction. Once it eased, Mariah rested, leaned back, panting.
Shane focused between her legs. "I can see the head."
"Are you sure?" asked the doctor.
"We definitely have some crowning going on here."
"Mariah, you know the drill," the doctor said. "Big breath on the next contraction and long, steady push. Shane, don't lose your grip. Baby will be slippery."
Shane threw one of the baby blankets on Mariah's chest. "I'm ready."
Mariah took a deep breath, leaned forward, closed her eyes, hooked her hands under her knees and pushed.
"Tell me what's happening, Shane," said the doctor.
"Head's almost out."
"Support the head and be prepared if the shoulders turn. Is the fluid clear?"
Mariah gasped at the end of the contraction and prepared for the next one.
"I can hear the ambulance!" Shane yelled.
"I'm pushing!"
"Slow down!"
Shane used the other baby blanket to get a good grip on the rest of the baby. He was tinged blue, half smeared with blood.
"Quick, give him to me." Mariah extended her arms.
"He's not breathing." Shane jiggled the limp baby and laid him on the blanket on her chest, careful of the cord.
Mariah's face whitened. "Help me. Turn him, hold him upside down…"
"I know, I know. I got this."
The ambulance pulled up and two EMT's jumped out, one wearing gloves and carrying equipment. They both ran over to where Shane was standing.
He was rubbing the baby with the other blanket, tipping the legs up, pumping his tiny heart, trying to get his boy to breathe. One of the EMT's had a suctioning bulb in his hand and used it to extract fluid from the baby's mouth.
No one noticed Mariah losing consciousness until it was too late.
* * * * *
Shane knelt next to Mariah's hospital bed, gripped her hand and bowed his head. Lying against the white sheets, her hand was nearly as white as they were.
He'd run out of prayers to say out loud, run out of ways to plead to God, run out of comforting words to keep in his head, overwhelmed by the terror hollowing his heart. Never mind the terror of possibly losing their baby, it was losing Mariah that was destroying him. It was impossible to move or care about anything else, turning him into a weakened pillar of salt.
No wonder Bird descended into constant drunkenness after losing what he held most dear. Just looking at innocent five year-old Cassie made Shane feel the keen reality of despair. She had no idea what was happening. He saw what life felt and looked like if he was left alone with her. How could he possibly be equal to the task of raising a little girl without her mother? But even worse, how could he possibly live without Mariah?
It was one thing to face death on his own, spun in air and kicked by hooves, somersaulting in the ring, landing broken in the dirt. But to watch his wife near death was infinitely worse. It was like seeing a tidal wave coming, cresting on the horizon, inevitable in its arrival and massive in its power, ready to swamp everything in its path, even the people who survived the destruction.
He would be one of those people, expected to go on, expected to rise to the occasion and rebuild some kind of life for him and his children.
Except what he felt at the moment was the opposite of life, it was death, dead man walking, going through the motions while looking forward to the act of physically dying to get away from reality. Alcohol, drugs, bucking his brains out on a rank and wild horse… the addiction didn't matter. What mattered was escaping.
The doctors were saying she was out of danger, that they'd got to her in time, infusing her with the pints and pints of blood she had lost. He didn't know why he kept thinking the worst, imagining life without any meaning, desolation everywhere.
But the lifelessness in her hand continued to fill him with dread. She might be okay today. She would wake up, see their boy, be amazed, be his loving wife again.
But some day she wouldn't be. Someday, one of them was going to be called home and would leave without the other. And even though he sensed the day was far off, it was going to arrive just as truly and brutally as a natural disaster. Only this would be a disaster that would literally break his heart.
Just thinking it caused ice to run through his veins. How did people do it? How could they love outside of themselves when faced with the reality that death was going to come no matter what?
He laced his fingers tightly through hers. Wasn't it better to escape first, be free of the strings that attached to the inside of the soul?
He used to be like that. Single and free, doing what he liked, whenever, wherever. But then he met Mariah, and decided to move into full maturity, settle down, get married. Like marrying made it happen in the blink of an eye.
He didn't know how to protect his family, his Mariah, his life and hers, inseparable. More like Siamese twins than not. If one died, the other would, too, leaving Cassie and Kellen behind.
Orphaned.
He wanted to tell anyone who would listen he'd just discovered he was still as stupid and self-centered as ever. Maturity hadn't happened yet, not to him. He'd been fooling himself. He was still ill-informed, wrapped in his playthings like he'd been his whole life. Husband? Father? He was nowhere close to the ideal. Here he was, quaking in his boots at the mere thought of Mariah's demise. If she knew, she'd be utterly disgusted with him.
He kissed the back of her hand because there was nothing else he could do. The die had been cast. He had bet the farm, the ranch, whatever he wanted to call it. He was here to stay, even if the worst happened.
Inside his hand, her fingers stirred. Shane lifted his head.
Her eyes looked weary but alive, terrifically alive, silver in their depths. "You're here," she said.
"I'm here." He squeezed her hand. "You don't have to be afraid to ask. Kellen's okay."
Tears leaked down her cheeks. "Are you sure? Are the doctors sure?"
"He's fine, Mariah. Gave us a bit of a scare at first, it's true, but he's breathing without tubes or extra oxygen. He passed the Apgar, passed the developmental tests. Even Cassie's seen him because he doesn't have all the same monitoring wires like most of the other NICU babies do."
"I need to see him, too." She started to throw the covers off the bed. He stopped her. He kept her from rising to a sitting position too quick and pushed the call button for the nurse.
"The doc doesn't want you walking yet. You lost a lot of blood. The nurse said to make you wait until she brought in a wheelchair."
She relaxed against her pillow, pink starting to color her cheeks. "All I remember is you saying there's some crowning going on."
"That's because you passed out. You had us worried, Mariah. Me, especially. I don't care what you say. I ain't raising our babies on my own. This here is the last time I let you do this to me."
Waiting for the wheelchair, Mariah carried Shane's hand to her cheek. "For once, I'm not going to argue. You are absolutely, positively right."
chAPTER eight
"Mommy, he's doing it again. He took every single one of my dolls and stuffed animals outside to play Cowboys and Indians."
Mariah called out through the screen door leading to the backyard. "Kellen, use your own toys!"
"I don't have enough!" Six year-old Kellen Youngblood ran to his mother to make his case. Deciding he better not shoot at her, he slipped his pointed index fingers into the sheathes on his gun belt.
Mariah stepped outside and mussed his dark hair, a replication of his father's. "You have to pretend. It's not fair to take what belongs to your sister. You wouldn't like it if she did that to you."
Cassie folded her arms across her chest, reminding Mariah of Shane in scolding mode. "You should take his gun belt away. He can't pretend he's a cowboy or Indian without his gun belt."
"He loves his gun belt. He's playing just like you play barrel racer or show jumper. Just because he doesn't like horses as much as you do, doesn't mean he should have his favorite things taken away."
Cassie did an abrupt about-face and marched to her scattered toys, gathering each one like a fussy, red-haired miniature schoolmarm. Mariah stifled her laugh and knelt to look her son in the face. "It's important for cowboys and Indians and people who use guns to be responsible. Their job is to make sure the innocent people around them don't get hurt. That includes your sister."
Kellen hung his head. "Okay, Mommy."
"You can play for another half hour, then dinner will be ready. You know what happens to Daddy if you're late and he doesn't start eating on time."
"He yells at me."
"No, I'm the one who yells. You need to stay in the backyard. When I call you, you come running. And don't invite those Cowboys and Indians in with you 'cause there won't be enough food. Your daddy will really yell his head off at that point."
"Will his head really come off?"
Mariah bit her lip, ruffled his hair and stayed stern. "What a question, Kellen Shane Youngblood, Jr. Why don't you ask him when he comes in? He might laugh his head off over it and then where will we be?"
Kellen ran off with his elbows crooked outwards, fists planted in plastic sheathes. The boy was going to be the death of her, obsessed as he was with guns.
But obsession seemed to run in the family because Cassie was just as obsessed with her horses, like her father. Maybe her mother, too, come to think about it. The height of summer meant the sun didn't set until after eight o'clock at night, leaving enough time for Shane to take her on a sunset trail ride.
The nourishing husband-and-wife alone kind.
Checking her watch, Mariah hustled to the stove to finish turning the chicken frying in the skillet. She hoped she made enough tonight. When it came to fried chicken and the Youngbloods, one family session at the dining room table and crumbs were all that was left.
Since she had sold McBride Investigations, it was a good thing they weren't hurting for money. If they were, she doubted she could keep her thundering horde from starving.
* * * * *
Seven years later
Mariah loped ahead of Shane on the trail, passing him before she eased back on the reins and her seat, ending at a walk. "Guess where we're going today?" she asked.
Shane watched as she swiveled in her saddle, comfortable in it, and grinned at him. She took the east fork in the trail. Shane urged his horse forward to ride abreast with her. "You sure about this?"
"It's for old times' sake."
Thirty minutes later, they crossed over the invisible line marking Bird's property. The camper was gone, hauled off by a waste management firm she'd hired years ago, leaving the old cottonwood tree behind, the only decent vegetation on the packed dust that once formed their yard. Mariah gestured toward the tree.
"How about eating here?"
Shane considered it. Although she had a tree service caring for it now, about a third of it was dead, either cut away or with denuded spires of graying branches reaching for the sky. The rest was cloaked in healthy green leaves, the way long-lived cottonwoods usually were, thriving even in the harshest of conditions. There was a nice pocket of shade and unmowed grass but it was the only inviting thing about the area. "Seems kind of barren for a picnic."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
He scratched his chin. "Must have had it stolen when you passed me on the trail."
She laughed and dismounted.
Shane considered again. The rest of Bird's half acre was dirt until it reached the trail head sign, which had scrub oak growing around it, a promise of the thick vegetation growing further up the public trail where the creek ran across fertile land. He gestured toward the sign. "We could ride another fifteen minutes and reach the place where we met. Haven't been there for awhile."
"It's too hot."
"More reason to head for the creek. Water runs pretty damn cold there, remember?"
She acknowledged his grin with one of her own but rifled through her saddlebags. "I'd rather eat under the tree."
He stayed on his horse. "It's like a furnace out here. Don't know how you and your old man survived in the heat of summer."
"By sitting under this tree, silly. I used to sleep here every night in July and August. Come on, give me a hand. I brought a blanket and you're probably starving."
He was pretty hungry. Shedding reluctance, Shane dismounted, certain Mariah had a plan. Usually, she chose prettier and more comfortable places than this, but as long as they had a blanket, he wasn't going to complain. Something unexpected was bound to happen when Mariah was in charge.
He unhooked the picnic basket from his saddle horn and met her under the tree. She was shaking out a large quilt.
"Would you help me, please?"
He dutifully handled one end of the quilt. They laid it across the deepest part of the shade. She got right down to business and opened the basket, withdrawing their packed lunch. He eased down beside her, careful of his hip and settled his back against the tree to keep his muscles from complaining too much. She glanced his way.
"You okay?"
"Nothing a good massage won't cure. What was the name of the last masseuse you sicced on me?"
"Brandy. She wasn't very good. You said so yourself."
"Easy on the eyes, though. 'Spect that's the reason she's still in business, considering how poor she is at the rest of her job."
Mariah shook her head in annoyance. "Why do I put up with you, Shane Youngblood? Here you are talking about pretty girls in front of your wife of eighteen years, who is preparing to feed you. If you had any sense, you'd make those comments after lunch rather than before."
"I think we've established this old cowboy is remarkably short on sense. His wife works considerably hard to pick up the slack."
She cast a smile his way. "Thank you, husband. It's nice to be appreciated."
Shane took a long drink of water to prevent the choking up that happened whenever he thought too much about the changes in their lives his accident had caused. He was pretty much back to doing what he'd always done, riding and training his horses, back to running his business full-time. But Mariah had given up hers. It bothered him even though it didn't seem to bother her.
"Do you miss working?"
She handed him his sandwich. "Did I not hear you say a minute ago that I work very hard to keep you out of trouble?"
"You know what I mean."
She bit into her sandwich and brushed some imaginary crumbs off his shirt. "It's sounds strange, I know, and I never thought I'd say this, but I don't miss the Bureau at all. I certainly don't miss working in Washington DC. I don't even miss McBride Investigations."
"Why? It's your baby. You built it from nothing, made it what it is today."
"I have two other babies. I love them far more. Now that they're teenagers, there's more work to do than ever, driving them to kingdom come and back, attending to their latest doings. Yes, I have enough of an ego to be glad my name's on the door. If the PIs need me, I'm available to give advice. But it feels like, as far as that type of work goes, I've been there and done that, and I've been lucky enough to move on to something else more rewarding."
"You have an odd definition of what's rewarding, if you think taking care of me and the kids ranks higher on th
e blood-pounding scale than packing a gun and running down lowlifes."
"You forgot about all the shoot 'em ups I've been in, hiding behind the steel walls of my desk."
"I love that desk. Protects me in my office, too. Never know when some hussy from Muskogee might try to kidnap me for the ransom money."
"Hussy from Muskogee? It hardly rhymes. Where do you get this stuff?"
He knocked his fist on his head. "It's in the noggin, Doc. I was borned this way."
She threw a crust of bread at him. He caught it and popped it in his mouth.
"You married a man of many talents."
"I have talents, too." She squinted, tilting her face toward the top of the tree. "For example, I used to talk to this tree. Crazy, huh?"
"Well, if the tree talked back to you, you might be a little crazy."
"I swear to God, it did sometimes." She put her hand on the trunk. He saw her swallow hard, eyes misty as though she were seeing something in the past. "I used to sit here like we're doing now and talk out loud about being mad at Bird, or ask for the toys I wanted, like a doll or a bicycle. I know it's hard to believe, but sometimes I heard her voice, like she lived here, in this tree."
"Your mom?"
"Told you. Crazy."
"This tree was here when she lived in the camper, pregnant with you. She likely sat under it in the same way you used to when you were little. Maybe it's not so crazy, after all."
"Do you think it's possible she heard me?"
"Possible? Sure."
"I don't know." She sighed, fingering the rough bark. "I want to believe it because, and I know this sounds crazy, too, but this tree kept me alive. When I felt lonely or sad, I'd hug this tree. I swear, I felt her hugging me back. I'd whisper my secrets when the wind blew through the leaves. If I listened hard enough, she'd say things to me. She'd tell me she loved me and she missed me. She said she couldn't wait to see me in heaven someday."
"I'm sure it's beautiful there."